CHAPTER XVII
THE FALL OF THE COUNT'S STRONGHOLD
UNDER the guidance of the Norman, the company proceeded by adifferent route to that by which Raymond made his escape; and, asnight fell, they dismounted and off-saddled in a clearing within halfa league of the Count's stronghold.
Sentries were posted, and every precaution taken against surprise,but nothing untoward occurred to disturb the camp.
Day dawned, but a thick, fleecy mist prevailed, the moisture drippingfrom the steel caps of the soldiers, who, in spite of it being asummer's morn in fair Normandy, actually shivered with cold. No fireswere allowed to be lighted for fear of giving warning of theirapproach, and after a hasty breakfast the company started on the lastportion of the journey.
The way lay through a narrow avenue, similar to that in whichRaymond's ill-fated men-at-arms met with disaster, and the Normanguide, anxious for his own and his brother's safety, used all hisskill and cunning as a woodman to ensure a successful surprise.
Presently through the mist two gnarled trunks attracted hisattention, and, halting, he beckoned to the Constable to dismount. Inlow tones he explained that lie wanted a riderless horse to be drivenin front of the company, and, the Constable assenting, one of thearchers dismounted and urged his steed to the head of the column.
To Raymond, who knew the perils of the path, the act occasioned nosurprise, but most of the soldiers watched the action withwonderment.
The horse had proceeded but a short distance when it stumbled oversome invisible obstacle, and before it could recover itself, a heavybeam, furnished with a metal barb, came crashing down from themist--hidden branches above, pinning the devoted animal to the earth.
A score of willing hands dragged the timber and its victim from thepath. "I pray you send another horse on ahead," exclaimed theConstable calmly, as if unmoved by his narrow escape, for had he beenin his customary place at the head of the company his fate would havebeen sealed.
Silently, and fully anticipating a fresh trap, the troop advanced,the successor to the ill-fated horse walking cautiously as ifinstinctively aware of its perilous mission. A bow-shot farther itstopped, and, in spite of the application of the point of a dagger,it refused to move another step.
"Prenez garde, messieurs, c'est un piege," whispered the Norman."Mais sans doute c'est le dernier empechement."
"Step forward, Lavant," exclaimed the Constable in a low tone to oneof the men-at-arms. "Thrust out thy spear and see what lieth here."
The man did so, and almost without resistance the weapon sank inturf. A twist of the spear and a large piece of what looked to begreen sward gave way, disclosing a yawning cavity, its length beingtoo great to permit a horse to leap across, while its depth wassufficient to kill or maim any man or beast that had the misfortuneto fall therein.
At a sign from their leader the soldiers dismounted. One man was toldoff to every four horses, a party set silently to work to cut a waythrough the dense thicket, so as to make a detour round the pitfall,and the rest of the soldiers stood where they were, resting on theirarms till the path was cleared.
This done, the company, now diminished in fighting numbers byone-fourth, resumed their march, and, as the guide had foretold, wereunmolested by any other obstacle till they emerged from the forest atthe edge of the extensive clearing in which stood the stronghold ofthe Count of Tancarville.
The sun was now above the tree-tops, and slowly the mist wasdispersing, so that the outlines of the fortress were just visible inthe clouds of lifting vapour.
Ordering his men to lie down within the shelter of the undergrowth,Sir John called his squires, the master bowman who had taken theplace of the absent Redward, and the oldest man-at-arms, and held ahasty consultation upon the plan of attack.
Though Raymond had not seen the castle from without, he found thathis idea of the place did not differ greatly from the appearance ofthe actual building. It was a long, low structure, but one story inheight, save at one corner, where a low tower commanded the rest ofthe stronghold. The walls were pierced with narrow loopholes for thedischarge of arrows, and crowned by a battlemented breastwork. Aroundthe walls was, as Raymond already knew, a ditch or moat. Thedrawbridge was raised, and the outer fortalice or barbican wasfurnished with a massive door.
There were no signs of the garrison, which, at the most, numberedless than two score men, but the possibility of a surprise wasguarded against by the fact that the doorway of the barbican wasclosed.
For several hours the little English force lay in front of thestronghold, the soldiers prone on the grass, their leaders standingbehind a dense thicket, so that no assailant was visible to thestill unsuspecting inmates of the castle.
At length some of the archers who had remained with the horses joinedthe main body, dragging with them two peasants who were capturedwhile on their way to the Count's fortress. The two men bore hugebaskets full of bread on their backs, and the booty was distributedand eagerly devoured by the soldiers, while the peasants, securelybound, were detained a short distance in the forest under a guard ofthree archers.
Presently one of the men-at-arms approached Raymond. "I beg of thee,sir, to ask the Constable that he give me leave to force an entryinto yonder fortress."
"How so, Peter? Wouldst essay the task alone?"
"Nay, Master Raymond, but with my comrade, Myles of Fareham, 'tiseasy to attempt."
"And easier to fail? What wouldst thou do?"
"If we don the peasant's clothes and carry their baskets filled withstones on our backs, I trow 'twill be an easy business to fool thosethat are within. Once they open the gate two honest Englishmen canhold it against a score of Frenchmen till the main body hath time tocome to our aid."
"By St. George! Thou sayest aright; I'll speak to Sir John at once."
The Constable received the project with delight, and preparations forthe assault were instantly made. The two men-at-arms drew thegabardines of the peasants over their armour, so that they closelyresembled the thick-set, shambling Normans, and shouldering theirheavy baskets, they advanced boldly towards the outwork.
Meanwhile their comrades were eager and alert. The bowmen had chosentheir arrows and strung their bows; the men-at-arms had drawn theirswords and had discarded their belts and sheaths to enable them torun the quicker to the aid of the two devoted men, and with eyesintently fixed on the gate of the barbican they awaited the signal torush headlong across the open space that lay between them and thefortress.
To the waiting soldiers it seemed hours ere their two comrades drewnear to the outer work, but when within a few paces of it a sentinelstood forth on the wall and challenged them. Then, apparentlysuspicious of their errand, he blew a loud blast on a horn, which wasimmediately answered by the appearance of five or six men from withinthe barbican, while over a score lined the walls of the mainstronghold, some of whom began to wind their cross-bows.
At the same time the door was thrown open, and a man, apparently acaptain, stood on the threshold. Up to now these preparations weresimply a matter of form, no matter who the newcomer might be, andfortunately the iron-nerved Englishmen understood this, for,staggering under their loads, they still advanced with bent heads toavoid recognition.
Suddenly the guardian of the gate realised that it was not a pair ofignorant peasants that he had to parley with. But the knowledge cametoo late. Peter of Purbrook had thrown down his load and dashed,sword in hand, at the astonished Norman. Before the latter couldretreat a step he had fallen with his head cleft to the chin. Hisbody lay athwart the threshold, and ere the others could rush toclose the gate the Englishmen had pushed their baskets, filled withstones, against the door, and were awaiting the onslaught of theirfoes.
With hoarse shouts of encouragement the English men-at-arms rose fromtheir ambush and rushed madly to their comrades' aid, while thearchers, shooting rapidly and coolly, directed a dropping fire ofarrows at the defenders on the walls. But they of the outwork hadgathered to defend the gate, and already a fierce
struggle was takingplace, the two gallant Englishmen being hard pressed by the enragedNormans.
With axe, spear, and mace the defenders strove to thrust back thedaring intruders, while the latter, regardless of their own safety,essayed to keep open the gate. Two of the Normans fell, their bodiesadding to the ghastly pile at the entrance to the barbican, butdirectly afterwards Myles of Fareham was slain by a savagespear-thrust.
Undismayed by the fall of his comrade, Peter of Purbrook hurled anaxe at the helm of the slayer of his friend, then, clearing at abound the heap of corpses, bade fair to drive back the defenderssingle-handed, while his comrades, with Raymond well in the fore,were already halfway across the intervening space.
Carried away by the heat of battle, Raymond saw as in a dream thefigure of the devoted man-at-arms clearing a path for his countrymen;the next instant there was a blinding flash, a deafening roar, and athick, choking cloud of sulphurous smoke.
One of the defenders, with the fury of despair, had fired off abombard, the huge stone ball crashing through friend and foe alike,and bounding over the springy turf till it came to a stop a few pacesfrom the edge of the forest.
Appalled by the sound, the soldiers hesitated, but when the smoke hadpartially cleared away the gateway was deserted.
Then the Constable's voice was heard amid the din, "Onwards, men, theplace is ours," and regaining their wits, the Englishmen rushedforward and reached the deserted barbican.
The discharge from the bombard, by which the remaining Frenchmen,save one, and four English men-at-arms, including the ill-fatedPeter, had been swept away, was attended by one good result. Thedrawbridge had been lowered, and, after applying the linstock, thecannonier had darted back across it to take refuge in the fortress,while the heavy bombard, wrenching asunder the leather thongs thatbound it to the carriage, had recoiled till its weight rested on theend of the drawbridge, effectually preventing it from being raised bythe defenders.
In the meanwhile the English archers, while engaged in keeping downthe fire of the cross-bowmen, had marked the fugitive cannonier as hesped back to gain the entrance. Ere he had run but half the distancehe fell, transfixed by a dozen arrows, while the attacking partyroared with excitement and jubilation.
Even if the defenders had had another bombard available they wouldhave been prevented by the hail of shafts from training it on theiradversaries; and, led by the Constable and his squires, themen-at-arms crossed the drawbridge and thundered at the main gatewith their axes, while the archers, advancing in close order, kept upa hot fire against every point where a Norman dared show the crest ofhis steel cap.
Under the furious blows the door was splintered; then with a unitedeffort the shattered woodwork gave way, and the victorious Englishmenrushed headlong into the castle, only to find that not a man of thegarrison was to be seen.
With his own hands the Constable tore down the scarlet wolves' headsof the banner of the Count of Tancarville, and the blue guidon withthe demi-lune floated in its place, amidst a fanfare of trumpets andthe cheers of the victors.
Then a systematic search of the stronghold was undertaken, but notrace of the Normans was found till an archer stumbled over a heavytrap-door, which, on being raised, disclosed a flight of dankstonesteps leading to a subterranean passage. Listening intently, theConstable and his squires heard the faint sounds of retreatingfootsteps echoing along the stone walls of the tunnel.
"It matters not," quoth Sir John. "I doubt whether there be anyperson of quality amongst them. Their burrow doubtless leads to somespot in the forest, and I can ill-afford to risk more lives in aneedless undertaking."
To close the entrance, pieces of heavy timber weighted with stonewere thrown down the yawning pit, and having made all chance of areturn by this outlet impossible, the soldiers devoted their energiesto the exploration of the building.
It was more of a fortified arsenal than a castle, the Count'sprincipal fortress being ten leagues off, but the spoils of war wereboth numerous and useful.
In all, including the bombard in the barbican, there were elevenpieces of ordnance, a score barrels of powder, steel caps, hauberks,and weapons of all descriptions. Unwilling to leave the booty whereit might again fall into the hands of the Normans, the Constable madepreparations to carry off the whole of the munitions of war.
Dragging long planks across the open ground, a party of archersreturned to where the horses had been left. By bridging the pitfall,the steeds were led safely across the fatal trap, and in less than anhour were within the stronghold, where rough carts in abundance wereready to be loaded up with the spoil.
Meanwhile Raymond had not forgotten the unfortunate man-at-arms whohad been captured with him in the first attempt to seize the Count.Aided by a couple of archers, he searched vainly for the secretoubliette, till at length he bethought him of the two peasants whohad been taken earlier in the day.
These were brought before him, and without much difficulty werecompelled to lead the way. In the floor of the lowest apartment thepeasants pointed out a small door, almost invisible in the deepgloom. Procuring a torch, Raymond and the archers shot back thebolts, and on lifting the trapdoor, a dark, evil-smelling dungeon wasdisclosed, unlighted and almost unventilated. Mingled with the noiseof scores of rats a low moaning was heard, and in the fitful glare ofthe torchlight a narrow circular hole could be distinguished in thecentre of the dungeon, its mouth unprotected by a barrier of anykind.
"Art there, Robert?" asked the squire, his voice shaking with pityand emotion.
The only reply was another low moan, as of a human being in direstdistress. Sending one of the archers back for assistance, Raymondimpatiently waited by the yawning pit. The man soon returned, andwith him four lusty men-at-arms, one of whom carried a coil of stoutrope and two more torches.
Directing the men to lower him slowly and carefully, Raymond knottedone end of the rope under his arms and boldly descended, holding aflaming torch above his head. The light flickered on the slimy wallsof the pit, which, as he descended, began to increase in size, tillat length he reached the bottom of a deep, bottle-shaped cavity, theonly approach to which being the narrow neck through which he hadbeen lowered.
The floor was ankle-deep in filth and slime; and, by the aid of thetorch, the squire saw, crouched in the corner, apparently heedless ofthe presence of his rescuer, the figure of a man.
Bending over him, Raymond failed at first to recognise his ill-fatedcompanion-in-arms, for the soldier's face, instead of being thedeep-bronzed, healthy colour that comes of a life in the open air,was of a ghastly greenish hue, and his eyes, dazzled by the glimmerof the torch, blinked with a peculiar vacant expression thatsuggested madness.
Finding that the man was too weak to stand the strain of the roperound his chest, Raymond, placing the torch on the ground, lifted himto his feet, and taking him in his arms, called out to those above tohaul up. Shielding the soldier as well as he could from the roughsides of the shaft, the squire with his pitiful burden came slowly tothe surface, where rough but kindly hands took charge of the rescuedprisoner, who was little more than a corpse.
A PITIFUL DISCOVERY]
On rejoining the Constable, Raymond found that a discovery had beenmade of another score of barrels filled with powder, and the questionof transport was troubling Sir John sorely. For not only was thequantity too great for the numbers of men and waggons at theirdisposal, but the difficulty arose how to reach the highway, the pathby which they had come being quite unsuitable for the carts.
Two scouts were therefore sent out with instructions to follow thecart-tracks, and to find out whether any of the late garrison stillremained in the neighbourhood.